


to restrain yourself is to already lose

by jaggedwolf



Category: Critical Role (Web Series)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Canon-compliant till C2E25, Character Study, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-17
Updated: 2018-07-17
Packaged: 2019-06-11 18:32:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,043
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15321654
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/jaggedwolf/pseuds/jaggedwolf
Summary: Beauregard has never been good at holding back, with her words or her fists.Two times she doesn’t, and one time she does.





	to restrain yourself is to already lose

_1._

The wine was a reckless move.

It was deeply satisfying in the moment, though, getting a little extra pocket change while sabotaging her dad’s business and by consequence, his attempts at social climbing. Lot less effort than the extortion rackets.

Partaking in the siphoned wine was a pretty sweet bonus.

Too bad he seems to have found out. And has finally found people with the rare combination of being willing to take her off his hands and the ability to actually do so.

Fucking monks.

She barely gives them any scrutiny, even as her arms are held back by two of them. No, she focuses all her attention on her dear old dad.

He’s sitting in his usual chair in the living room, drinking some tea and writing rapidly. As if this is the culmination of another one of his business deals.

“You could have just kicked me out like a normal fucking parent,” she spits at him, satisfied when that breaks his conversation with the monk in charge. Some elf dude with curly blond hair by the name of Zeenoth or Xenoth or whatever, not that Beauregard can find it in herself to care about the nuances of the name of the man who’s spearheading her capture. “No need for a fucking honor guard.”

Her dad scoffs. Of course he does. “And have you shame the Lionett name even further? I hardly think so.”

His voice is preternaturally calm. Measured. Devoid of feeling even as he makes her disdain for her clear. Beauregard loathes that, how he retains his composure in the face of her defiance, and that simple repeated truth of their relationship only serves to infuriate her. 

She slams the back of her heel into one of her captors’ shins, jabbing an elbow in the other’s ribs, freeing both arms from their grips, the monks yelling in dismay as she lunges for her dad, getting as far as hurtling a fist towards him before realizing she doesn’t know what she’s aiming for.

Beauregard’s annoyed at the realization she doesn’t want to hurt him. Not really. 

That particular moral quandary is solved for her by the head monk deftly nudging her fist so it goes wide, the touch so soft she doesn’t realise it’s happening until she’s lost balance, gripping the arm of her dad’s chair to stop from falling. She glances up at his face before she can stop herself, grimacing at the slightly amused look on his face.

“Xenoth, please? I was under the impression your group would be able to handle her.” He raises his eyebrows and raps the back of her head with his knuckles. “Preferably a tad quicker than that.”

Her dad barely gets the words out before the other monks have come forward to grab Beau by the arms again, impassive as she struggles and kicks her feet wildly. Fuck. She should have gotten out of here while she was free, not gotten distracted by him. 

Same mistake as the wine. 

“No, Beauregard,” he said, continuing his earlier train of thought without a beat, “you will further your studies with the Cobalt Soul. Perhaps they will succeed in beating some sense into you where I have failed.” 

She reflexively snarls at his words, and she hates that she’s grateful he doesn’t see it, his gaze directed back at his paperwork. 

It’s unlikely she’ll getting another chance to get out of this tonight. Beauregard fumes silently, taking in as much of the whispered conversation between her dad and Xenoth as she can, mentally catalogues every monk in the room, eyes the bulging coin-purse her dad passes across the table, takes note of exactly how much coin per week he’ll be sending for her upkeep. 

Would’ve be nice if any of her criminal acquaintances told her about the fucking monk society that takes away wayward children for gold. Not one of the boogeyman stories Mom told her at bedtime, that’s for sure. 

Her dad and Xenoth stand up, their business clearly concluded. The monks holding her realise they’re about to leave, and bring out strips of cloth to efficiently bind her arms behind her back. 

Beauregard is so deeply over this whole monk thing. The whole thing feels unreal, and is going to keep feeling that way if these guys keep pulling shit like this. Were they all kidnapped at their parents’ behest too? Did her dad expect her to become one of these guys and go around snatching other people’s children? What kind of bullshit organization was this?

She’s brought out of that unproductive loop of thoughts by the tightening of her arm bindings, the final cinch cutting into her arms. Her arms are truly trapped. It makes her skin crawl.

Her dad glances at the doors to the rest of the house and clearly considers simply leaving, his necessary contribution to this operation complete. Of course the bastard doesn’t.

He walks to Beauregard at an unhurried pace, like a man who knows he has all the time in the world. He looks her over before speaking.

“Though I miss her dearly, I find myself grateful your mother never had to see what you’ve become.” Her dad sighs. “No, Beauregard, I do not to expect to ever see you again. Nor do I wish to.” 

That was a low blow. 

Refuse to mention Mom for thirteen years and then just drop that as a goodbye. Hypocrite. She refuses to consider whether his words are true. Hypotheticals are bullshit. Dead women have no opinions on their asshole daughters, or however the saying goes. 

All there is the here and now, and all Beauregard sees, or rather, all she chooses to see as the monks drag out is her dad’s back as it moves away further away from her, and she it, the front door closing shut before she sees which room he steps into. The night wind breezes over her skin, and her heels drag along the dirt road as she lets her body go slack in the monks’ clutches. No need to make it easy on them.

They reach some carts outside the estate, and Beauregard realises she has no idea where they are taking her, and yeah, maybe she starts freaking out at that. She twists and turns her body to no avail as they approached the cart, seemingly content to ignore her struggles. It’s only when she lands a foot right in one of their chests, sending the monk staggering backwards, that Xenoth approaches. He retrieves a bottle from his cloak and uncorks it.

“I’m sorry, child.” The other monks pin Beauregard’s shoulders to the side of the cart, immobilizing her. Xenoth pinches her nose shut and shoves the bottle opening into her mouth, tilting it. 

She involuntarily swallows, cursing Xenoth, her dad, and anyone else she can think of. Xenoth releases her nose and steps back, returning the bottle to his cloak. 

She tries focusing on Xenoth’s stupid face but it’s blurry, like he won’t stay still. Shaking her head to clear it turns out to be a bad idea. The world is spinning and she wants to close her eyes, but no, if this is happening to her and she can’t stop it at least she’s going to pay attention, at least she gets to know what’s happening. Her body has other ideas. Her limbs feel impossibly heavy and the monks aren’t bothering to restrain her, their grasps loose. As her eyes flutter shut, she hears Xenoth gently speaking.

“You will be alright, I promise.”

“Liar,” she slurs, as the last tendrils of consciousness escape her.

_2._

When the battle ends, all four of them run for the caravan. It seems small for three, but Caleb’s spell promises Fjord’s falchion there and though none of them quite understands how it works, they know Fjord is inseparable from his weapon.

Beau reaches it first, but it’s Nott who wrenches the doors open with her mage hand, the hinges creaking from the force of it. 

She was right. It is too small for three.

Inside are Fjord and Yasha, bound and gagged, eyes looking so fucking relieved to see them. He’s holding his falchion in one of his hands, useless as it is in his current predicament. Nott clambers into the caravan with a bare-toothed grin, cutting them lose with her short sword, chittering away about how they found them. Molly leans against the open door, saying something charming to Fjord that she doesn’t pay attention to. The anger in his eyes has subsided for the first time in days. Caleb finally reaches the caravan too, and with a snap of his fingers Frumpkin is curling up in Yasha’s lap. 

Beau should be saying something, doing something too, but all she has is questions. Holding her staff, she silently stalks around the caravan in search of a conclusion other than the one right in front of her. Stalks around again when she doesn’t like what she sees. No, there is no other caravan in the area, no unexpected tracks leading away.

She circles back to the others, gazes directly at Fjord and Yasha who are drinking water and potions that have been thrust upon them by the others, the two looking quite overwhelmed. They deserve a break, but Beau’s an impatient asshole. “Where’s Jester?”

Fjord and Yasha look guilt-stricken at her, and then at each other, Fjord speaking first. Beau sees the disapproval written clear on Molly’s face, but fuck him. She doesn’t know what Jester not being here means. They need all the information they can get, as quickly as they can get it. 

“They took her in the night. We were sleeping, somehow, tied up as we were, and when we woke up she was gone.” Beau resists the relief she feels at the familiar drawl of Fjord’s voice. Now’s not the time to feel it, not yet. “We tried to keep an ear out for where they took her, but we heard nothing.”

Yasha looks hesitantly at Beau, who is gripping her staff so tightly it’s starting to hurt, before returning her gaze back to Frumpkin. She pets him carefully as she speaks. “I have been trying to keep track, and I think we were near Zadash when they took her. But I am not certain.” 

“Okay.” Beau nods, and spins around. She heads where they knocked the slavers unconscious, ignoring the conversation starting behind her as she tried to remember where their leader fell. It was a fair walk from the caravan, the battle having shifted across the forest.

If Beau’s being honest with herself, the fact that it’s Jester who’s out there terrifies her - well-meaning Jester who wants so badly to be liked, who only left the small hidden room of her mother’s place a couple of months ago. Beau knows how clever and strong Jester is, but her mind now has time to come up with a dozen awful possibilities, time it didn’t have when they were hot on the trail of Fjord and Yasha. She finds herself hoping that the collection of Traveller symbols they found in the safehouse really does mean Jester’s god is real and is looking out for her. 

Fat lot of good the Mighty Nein was doing for her right now, after all. Beau picks up the slaver, a slender elven woman, by the scruff of her shirt, scowling in annoyance when she stays unconscious. She lets her staff fall to the ground as she grabs one of the slaver’s own waterskins and empties the contents on to her face.

She sputters back to unconsciousness. Beau feels grimly satisfied at the look of fear in her eyes as she took in her situation. 

“Hi.” Beau smiles, showing her teeth. She hopes her expression was the exact one that had concerned Fjord when he was trying to teach her social skills. “We’re here for our friends, but there seems to be one missing. Blue skin, blue hair, blue horns. Hard to miss, really.”

“I-I-I dunno what you mean, we only -” The slaver’s eyes widen in recognition for the briefest second before playing at guilelessness, and that brief second is all that Beau needs. 

Beau slams her into the tree behind her, barking right in her face. “Do not fuck with me. I have had a very long day, and I can tell that you are lying.”

She presses her free forearm against the slaver’s neck, glad she’s not within sight of her friends. Beau keeps her voice low. “Tell me the truth. And then maybe you get to leave here with your life.”

The slaver’s face transforms into one of fear and she gulps, Beau feeling the motion against her arm. 

“We sold her to a bloke in Zadash, didn’t ask for his name or nothing.” The slaver yelps as Beau fleetingly increases the pressure on her neck at that, and speaks at a quicker pace now. “But he had a family crest on his robe! Maroon lion on an orange shield, and he said was from out west. I really don’t know anything else.”

Beau ignores the sinking feeling in her chest, bringing back her arm from the slaver’s neck and tightening the grip on her shirt collar. She grits out the question she really doesn’t want to ask. 

“What did he look like?”

“Dark skin, shoulder-length black hair, a little taller than you?” The moment she finishes her answer, Beau slams the slaver into the tree again without thinking, surprised when it knocks her unconscious. The body slumps to the ground. Fuck, would have liked a little confirmation.

“Beauregard?” 

Caleb, shit. He must have walked up without her noticing. She turns around, kneeling to pick up her staff, and spares him a glance.

His expression is unreadable. “Did you find what we are looking for, my friend?”

“Not yet.” She grimaces. “Maybe. I know where we need to go. Let’s go tell the others.”

Caleb probably prefers to walk back in silence, but Beau throws question after question at him about how Fjord and Yasha doing anyway. She can feel her muscles thrum with tension and it’s frustrating. 

The aftermath of battles usually focus her. Yet all she feels is scattered, craving another fight.

_+1._

“Beauregard,” her dad said, “imagine my surprise upon receiving your missive. I was under the impression your studies were not yet completed.”

The voice was that unique flavor of calm with that barely detectable hint of danger to it. The sight of her dad sitting behind his desk was unexpectedly overwhelming in its familiarity - the black hair barely brushing against his shoulders, the raised eyebrows, the steepled fingers. Beau shook it off, resisting the dozen impulsive responses she had to him. 

She shrugged casually and dropped herself into the leather chair in front of the desk. “The archivist thought I’d be better served by real-world experience. Hence the Empire contract, like I stated.”

Her dad’s face lost its composure momentarily at her non-snarkily answering his unspoken query, before smoothing over effortlessly. As ridiculous as she had felt when doing it, she was glad she had rehearsed some of what she needed to say for this. It was paying off. 

As was her dad’s business now that Beau wasn’t skimming from him, it seemed. He’d clearly bumped up security - two guards with gleamingly sharp swords stood on opposite sides of the study. He always did care about presentation. Beau eyed the guards’ positions relative to the exit. Hardly impressive. On her own, she could easily get out of here.

“Well then, let’s not waste our time.” Her dad snapped his fingers at one of the guards, dismissing him out of the room as he spoke. “Bring it in.”

Beau took a slow breath as instinctive anger flickered through her muscles, focusing on the sound of the door swinging shut behind the guard and not her dad’s words. Yes, she knew exactly what he meant by “it”, but she couldn’t afford to anger him. She already knew the kind of man her dad was, the kind of man he wanted to be. That’s why she was here. 

Beau considered what to say next when she heard the door swing open again. She twisted around in her chair to face the entrants, swallowing her sound of relief at seeing Jester. Her limbs were bound tightly behind her back, a strip of cloth was wrapped tightly around her head, across her mouth as a gag, and she looked skinnier than Beau remembered. Beau turned back in her seat before Jester could make eye contact with her. Fuck, she was such an asshole.

Beau’s hand curled into a fist, quick and tight, hidden from the view of her dad by the desk. She nodded at her dad. “That’s the one we’re looking for.”

“There is quite the bounty on its head in Nicodranas. I would hope the Empire understands the lost–” he tilted his head at Beau, a smile reserved only for his business partners across his face, a smile Beau had never been subject to–”investment a loyal subject would be accruing in this surrender.”

Her dad hadn’t lacked any skill in fighting, but words had always been his favorite weapons. Then again, Beau had planned for that. 

“Naturally.” She tossed on the table a coin purse that landed with a resounding thud. “That should be enough for your trouble, and the Empire will remember this.”

He loosened the drawstrings, peering in. “I believe we have a deal.” 

“Good.” Beau stood abruptly. She moved over to Jester as slowly as she could will herself to, looked over her again in case she missed anything. The guard had returned to his original position. Good, Jester could stand under her own power. There was dried blood on the corner of Jester’s mouth around where the gag was. 

Beau really wished she didn’t have to play at polite adult right now.

She spun Jester around as soon as she reached her, one hand on her bound arms, ready to march her out of there. Beau gripped Jester’s shoulder tightly with her other hand. She needed the sensation to steady herself, or else she was going to rip her staff off her back and slam it down on her dad’s head. 

Jester was eerily still, her breathing almost imperceptible. Beau tried not to think about how she learned to do that. Jester, who was always so fidgety and constantly moving and shifting even when going to bed, that Beau had resigned herself to only falling asleep after she did. 

Beau tilted her head up to harshly whisper in Jester’s ear. “Things go to shit, get out of here. Exit’s a straight path from here, turn right once you’re outside and you’ll hit a part of the wall that’s damaged, get through there.

She pressed a small piece of copper wire and a symbol of the Traveller into Jester’s hand, waiting for her fingers to curl around the items before dropping back. Beau didn’t know much about this magic stuff, but she knew Jester would need her hands and mouth free to do her sending spell. Beau couldn’t do much about that yet. Glancing at her dad, she saw he was occupied with the coin purse. Good.

Beau pushed Jester forward. She was ready to get the hell out of there. 

“Beauregard, wait.” Her dad’s voice and footsteps approached closer.

Fuck. She should’ve just cut open Jester’s bindings - appearances be damned - if they were going to get caught out this quickly. Beau always had been too damn easily read by him. He probably knew exactly what she was up to as soon as she walked through the door and was just waiting to get the coin before tearing down her plans. 

Beau spun around to face him, her hand reaching for her staff, her body screaming for the relief of a fight. He chuckled at her response.

“Ah, always ready to fight.” He smiled at her again, stepping forward to lay a hand on her shoulder. She held back the flinch at the contact. “No need for that. I merely wanted to say, we have had our differences, but I am glad to see you making something of yourself. You understand why I was harsh with you now, no?”

“Yeah,” replied Beau, in what felt like the stupidest-sounding small voice. 

“You could’ve ended up like it,” he continued disdainfully, gesturing with his other hand towards Jester, “a common criminal, with bounties on you everywhere.” 

“Yeah, that would definitely be awful.” Beau shrugged casually, trying to process this new direction their interaction was going in. Of all the possible ways her plan could go off the rails, her dad being pleased with her was not one she had accounted for. “Well, I should leave. That Empire contract time limit and all.”

She motioned towards the door.

“Naturally. If you find yourself in Kamordah again, do let me know. I would like to hear a little more about your studies.” He smiled. These smiles were starting to piss her off too, as was her mind’s insistence on counting each and everyone of them.

“Of course.” Beau almost turned around after that, when she remembered Fjord’s suggestion that she try actually ending conversations and not just walking away. Ugh. She nodded at him. “Till next time.” 

As Beau marched Jester out of the study and out of the estate, her hands trembled with anger and shame and the need for a fight. She tried to calm herself like the monks trained her to. Focus on something concrete, let her breathing center on that. 

Yet everything she chose put her off-balance more. The family portrait in the living room, the sight of the mountain range that she used to sit and stare at as a child wanting more, even the back of Jester’s neck made Beau realise that the tiefling’s skin was the dullest blue Beau had ever seen it.

And here she was, marching Jester off in silence and thinking about herself and not all that Jester likely had to deal with it. Fuck, any of the others would have made for a better rescuer for Jester, a rescuer she deserved.

Fjord would have been calm and sweet. Molly would have been chatty and light. Even Caleb would have had Frumpkin curl around Jester’s neck in comfort. All Beau had to offer was her ability to notice a dozen things and fix none of it.

Finally, they were far enough away from the estate that Beau felt comfortable stopping. She slipped out her small dagger and cut Jester’s arm bindings. Jester brought her arms in front of her, rubbing them in comfort as Beau carefully cut loose the gag. Beau shoved an open waterskin into her free hands.

“Drink that first,” Beau said, and lifted up a rejuvenating potion from her pouch. “And this. Then we’ll talk.”

She watched as Jester downed both in quick succession, looking brighter after the potion, and then returned both containers to Beau with a very serious look on her face.

“You are not a very good actor, you know,” Jester said, making one of her better unimpressed faces. It was the same face she had when Caleb tried explaining why he didn’t take a bath.

“Uh - what?” Beau sputtered. 

“You really wanted to punch your dad. Or hit him with your staff. Or do a flying kick thing,” Jester grinned widely as she held out two fists in front of her in a fighting gesture, the dried blood on the corner of her mouth crusting and crumbling away.

“I mean, yeah. But then he wouldn’t have handed you over.” Apparently no one wanted to talk to Beau today in a way that she expected. She sighed. “Fuck, I’m sorry about all the shit he said, and whatever he did to you, I only -”

“Shut up, Beau,” Jester interrupted merrily, coming closer to sling an arm around Beau’s shoulders. “It isn’t your fault your dad is very mean. Or that you are a very bad actor.”

Jester giggled gleefully. It had been so long since Beau had heard that laugh, or even her voice, that Beau felt the tension leave her muscles at the sound of it, let herself relax into Jester’s embrace. 

“Okay, I think I’ve got the message about my acting abilities,” Beau muttered.

Jester schooled her expression into mock-seriousness, pitching her voice a little lower. “Till next time. Empire contracts. I am a serious monk doing important monk business.”

Beau groaned. “Is this what I get for rescuing you? Let’s keep walking while we talk.”

Jester nodded, and the two of them continued heading down the path. Beau updated Jester on everybody, on how they had found Fjord and Yasha in the caravan a couple of weeks after they were taken, how they’d been scouring everywhere for news of Jester.

When Beau finished, Jester spoke, her voice soft and earnest. “Your dad and his guards weren’t cruel. Mostly they left me in my cell. Except when I tried to escape that one time. But that was one time.”

“I heard him call you ‘it’, discovered he dabbles in the slaving business, and that one time bloodied your mouth. You don’t have to comfort me about my dad being a shitty person.” Beau scowled, and then softened her voice. “But I’m glad you weren’t hurt more. Still want to punch him though.”

“I did think of lots of different spells to mess with him,” Jester nodded. “I didn’t think anyone was coming, so I made lots of plans.”

“You didn’t think - what?” Beau stopped in her tracks.

“Technically, I wasn’t with the slavers anymore, so, I didn’t know if anyone was coming.” Jester shrugged and stopped a little in front of her, looking at Beau as if it was obvious. “It’s okay, I had the Traveller with me.”

“Fuck, Jester.” Beau looked at her in disbelief. “Of course, we were coming. You think Fjord hasn’t been beating himself up for letting them separate you? Nott’s been whining about her detective partner and Caleb’s been scouring every bookstore for locating-type magic. “

Beau couldn’t help herself from continuing the rant, stepping closer to grip Jester by both shoulders, almost yelling now. Somewhere in the back of her head, Fjord is saying something about indoor voices. 

“We had to stop Molly from trying to cast his charming bullshit on everyone we met. Yasha hasn’t left us since we found her - that’s the longest she’s fucking stayed with us.” 

Jester grinned widely at that. “Yaaaaaaasha, huh?” 

“Not the point,” Beau grumbled.

“And you didn’t miss me?” Jester had a wicked smile on her face, the kind that meant Beau would lose no matter what she said.

“I need my fucking roommate, yeah?” Beau took her hands off Jester’s shoulders and crossed her arms. “Sharing with Molly was the worst.”

“Anyway, “ Beau continued, “don’t change the subject. We’re the Mighty Nein, we look out for each other. Wouldn’t leave you to the mercies of my shitty dad.”

“Okay, Beauregard missed me very much,” Jester beamed, coming forward to hug Beau tightly. “Where is everyone now? I feel like Fjord wouldn’t let you do a talking mission on your own. He’s very good at the talking.”

“Uh, “ Beau dropped her gaze guiltily. “I didn’t tell them about my awesome plan?”

“Beau,” Jester leveled a look at her. A look she was usually on the receiving end of when she tried to pretend she wasn’t that injured, really Jester, she could sleep it off.

Beau chuckled weakly. “They’re all in the inn resting for the day and I told them I had Cobalt Soul business to do, and they believed me?” 

Beau scratched the back of her head nervously as Jester frowned. “What if something went wrong?”

“I’m not an idiot.” Beau took a step back. “I told Caleb what I was doing, and that if I wasn’t back by tomorrow to come after me. I just...when I found out my dad was the one who had you, I knew I had to handle it. You saw how he talked about you, he would’ve thrown Fjord out on his ass.”

Beau grimaced as she spoke. She’d felt awful lying to the others, telling them that all she discovered was that Jester was in Kamordah and nothing else, convincing them to take a day to rest up. 

It would have felt worse to admit it was her dad, though. 

Caleb had understood, of course, how Beau desperately wanted the others to not look at her differently or argue with her plan. Maybe Jester understood too, because she lost the scowl and grabbed Beau’s hand, squeezing it in acknowledgement.

“Then your plan was extra impressive! On your own with the bad acting.” Jester bumped her shoulder with Beau’s, tugging on her hand towards town. Jester scrunched her face up in thought. “Let’s get back to the others and come up with a super cool story about how you rescued me to tell them.”

“We don’t have to lie about it. It’s fine.” Beau shook her head. “They can know my dad’s an even bigger asshole than I thought.”

They started walking again, and maybe it was the exhaustion of not fighting that got to her, but Beau kept speaking as they did. “Like, fuck, I wasn’t the son he wanted. Then I wasn’t the daughter he wanted, either. And then I stroll in as a fucking bounty hunter for the empire, essentially buy a person from him, and now he’s proud of me?”

Beau sighed. “I don’t even know why I expected anything else.”

“I’m proud of you for not punching him immediately,” said Jester, interlocking their fingers and wiggling hers far more than necessary to do so. “You really wanted to.”

“Yeah, I’m glad too,” Beau replied. “Especially since it got you back.” 

“You’re so sweet now, Beau,” said Jester in a sing-song voice.

“Shut up, Jester.” Beau had so many questions still. She wanted to know everything that had happened - with the slavers, with her dad.

Instead, she quieted her mind and let Jester pull her along, their hands gently swinging back and forth as they walked.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> You can find me at jaggedwolf on tumblr, where I'm always happy to talk my head off about Critical Role or one of my other current obsessions.


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